Roosters Don't Cackle
by fullmetalgrigori
Summary: Simply because a relationship can go millions of different directions, and no one can anticipate or predict which fork in the road will be chosen.
1. Arguments, Video Games, and Hugs

**A/N: A re-vamp of my previous work, "Moments of Their Lives." I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

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><p>The steering wheel creaked in protest as Juliet O'Hara slammed her palm down once, twice, three times. She ignored the redness that slowly spread across her skin and rested her forehead against the back of her hands. Still, she did not feel any better after her assault on her car; rather, her hands were starting to ache. She blew out a gusty breath and closed her eyes.<p>

Why did her mother always bring this up? Their visits were brief enough as it was; was her mother trying to shorten them even more? She'd raised Juliet; surely she knew that her daughter would storm out of the house before the conversation was finished?

And yet her mother would continue, pushing the subject until Juliet exploded.

It had started that morning, when her mother had arrived from out-of-town for a brief visit. Juliet was already on edge, as visits from her mother usually didn't end well. This one would prove to be no exception.

Things had come to a head at dinner. After a rather tense main course, her mother had finally set down her napkin and asked the one question Juliet had been expecting.

"_Are you in a relationship?"_

She'd had to answer with the truth (no), because her mother was an expert at ferreting out lies. As she'd answered, Juliet had remained stiff in her seat, mentally warning her mother against her course.

But her mother, from whom Juliet had received her stubbornness, would not be swayed.

"_Why not?"_

Juliet had cited multiple reasons (work, can't find the right guy), but she could see in her mother's eyes that she wasn't really listening. Her first few questions had been probing attacks, merely to see the weaknesses in Juliet's argument. Next came the battle, full of sweetened suggestions and veiled accusations, all hidden under a pretense of help.

Juliet was sick of it. At one point in her mother's spiel, in which she was trying to suggest that Juliet's job was the entire reason for her singleness, Juliet had opened her mouth and cut her mother off mid-sentence.

"_I'm not in a relationship, Mom, because I don't need one. I know who I am. A man won't make me complete. I've worked my ass off to get where I am, all on my own. I can do whatever I want because I have the ability to get myself there. You tell me to find a man, because I need one? You thought you needed one, and look where that got you. Alone, trying to raise two children by yourself, because your husband ran away. I will not make your mistakes. And if that means remaining single for the rest of my life, than dammit, that's what I'll do!"_

That was the point at which Juliet stormed out of the house. Which led her to beating on her steering wheel.

Part of Juliet wanted to go back, to apologize to her mother. She'd said some awful things she knew her mother hadn't deserved to hear.

But the other part of her knew that if she returned, she might end up saying something even worse.

She needed to be somewhere else. She needed to cool off, and return when she was more level-headed. But where would she go?

The answer came to her immediately. Who was the master of distraction?

None other than Shawn Spencer.

She stuck her key in the ignition and pulled out of her driveway, letting her mind drift as she did so. She really shouldn't have said what she did about her father. That was uncalled for. But everything else…she wouldn't take back. No. She _couldn't_. That's what she believed, and she wasn't about to recant only to please her mother.

As she drove, her mind began to focus on what her mother had said. That it was her work that was scaring men away. Who would marry a detective? She intimidated people. Men wanted pretty, gentle women, not ones who dealt with murder and deception on a daily basis. She was jaded and cynical, and no man would ever measure up to the impossibly high standards that she set.

Juliet did not want to believe her mother's words. She wanted to push then aside and forget them. But they continued hovering in the air, pecking at her like vultures waiting her an injured animal to die.

She started as she pulled into the Psych parking lot. She wondered for a split-second if Shawn would be at home, but dismissed the thought immediately. Shawn was almost always at his office, and very rarely at his apartment. She could almost guarantee that he would be here.

She turned off the ignition and stowed her keys in her pocket, growing nervous as she reached the door. She'd decided to come here on a whim, when she hadn't been thinking clearly. What if Shawn turned her away? What would he think of her coming over, with no police business?

She stood on the doorstep, hand half-raised as if to knock, when the opening of the door answered her questions. Shawn stood in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a green polo, looking so familiar that she nearly burst out crying.

"Juliet? What is it? Do we have a case?"

She took a deep breath and attempted to look normal. "No, Shawn, it's just me. Um, I was wondering if I could come in?"

"What? Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry. Make yourself at home." He gestured around the office. "Have a seat."

Juliet sat in one of the typical brightly colored armchairs. Shawn took a seat across from her and studied her face. "Look, Jules, are you alright?"

She waved aside his concern. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I just—needed somewhere else to be tonight."

"And here was the first place you thought of, as it should be," Shawn finished for her. "Unfortunately, I will be your only host tonight, as Gus is—" Shawn broke off to look around the office, "—nowhere to be found. So." He stood up quickly and strode to a bookshelf behind his chair, next to the television. He rifled through the shelves briefly before returning to Juliet. "Pick your poison." In his hands was a choice of four different video games.

She scanned them before picking a first-person shooting game that she felt she could lose herself in. One that would distract her.

"Ah, yes. A wise choice," Shawn said. "Although, I should warn you, I am an unbeatable master at this game."

"Bring it on, Spencer," she challenged. Already she could feel her spirits lifting.

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><p>Two hours and five lost matches later ("How can a full-time cop who is such a good shot in real life be so bad in a video game?" asked Shawn, earning him a boxed ear), Shawn switched the game off.<p>

"I know you came for distraction, but it's probably time for you to resolve that argument with your mother."

Juliet felt her jaw drop as she wondered how he could have possibly known what she had been running from.

He merely touched his finger to his temple and smiled at her. She closed her mouth and shook her head ruefully, wondering at his abilities. He would never cease to amaze her.

She was almost out the door when she stopped. She turned back and looked at Shawn, who had taken her in with no questions asked, and had asked nothing, even when he'd already known what was upsetting her. "Shawn," she said quietly, not even knowing what to say.

"I know," he replied, and somehow, she knew he did.

Quickly, before she even realized what she was doing, she was stepping into his arms and hugging him. And wrapped in his arms, she understood. She understood why her mother had always pushed the issue of a boyfriend.

Her mother wanted to make sure she was loved.

And standing in Shawn's arms, breathing in his scent of detergent and pineapple hair gel, she could almost begin to understand what that might feel like. What it would feel like to have someone waiting for you when you got home, to tell you that everything would be okay when it wasn't, to kiss you and hug you and to give you all their love.

Standing in Shawn's arms that night, Juliet began to understand her mother's message. Even though her mother's argument had been filled with disguised insults, Juliet could see the meaning behind it.

Her mother merely wanted her to be loved, and to love in return.

Standing in Shawn's arms, Juliet could almost taste it.


	2. Parties, Serious Shawn, and Midnight

Juliet sighed for the fifth time in as many minutes and wondered once again why she was here.

"Here" was the Santa Barbara Police Department, where several officers were on the verge of becoming drunk at the annual New Year's Eve party.

Why did a police department hold a party where it's guaranteed that several members of your police force may or may not become completely drunk? Juliet would never understand the reasoning behind this.

She wished again that she had been allowed to celebrate quietly at her home, which would consist of Juliet curled up in a blanket on her couch, reading a novel and sipping hot chocolate until the clock struck twelve, at which time she would get up, clean out her mug, and go to bed.

She didn't really see why all this fuss was necessary. After all, this holiday was nothing more than an excuse to promise yourself that you would do better in the next year, only to see yourself crash and burn within the next two months.

So you can see, Juliet did not believe in New Year's Resolutions.

So why, you may ask, was she here at all?

One officer Buzz McNab, that's why.

When Buzz asked her if she would be attending the party, Juliet had told him that she would not. He face had fallen, and he asked her why. To which she gave all the reasons for hating New Year's.

That had been a mistake.

For Buzz, any holiday, no matter how ridiculous or commercialized it was, was an excuse to celebrate. It was anathema to him that anyone would think otherwise.

His look of devastation almost made her crack, but it was the puppy dog eyes and the quiet "please" that had done her in.

So she promised to come, and here she was. Having a thoroughly terrible time.

At five minutes to midnight, she had had enough. She no longer wanted to see her coworkers making fools out of themselves. She didn't care if she missed midnight; she needed to get out of the stuffy station that now reeked of sweat and alcohol.

So she turned around and left, carefully picking her way through the party until she was out of the front door. Once in the fresh air, she inhaled deeply, trying to rid the scents of the party from her lungs.

"Taking a break?" asked Shawn, who was leaning on the rail near the foot of the stairs.

"No, actually, I thought I'd leave," she said.

"Jules! Say it isn't so!" he cried.

"I'm afraid I can't Shawn. New Year's just isn't my thing."

"Now, I'm surprised at that," he said, climbing the stairs and settling back down on the railing next to her.

"Why does that surprise you?"

"Because, I thought New Year's might mean more to you."

"How so?"

"Forget all the fresh start and resolution crap," he said, waving his hand. She hid a smile as he continued. "For you, a new year means one more year to your life."

"And I should be happy about that?" she joked. Her smile faltered as he turned his gaze on her. His face was completely serious.

"Yes. It means another year where you haven't been hit by those bullets shot at you. It means another year where you haven't been kidnapped, or attacked. It means another year where you're alive, Jules."

Juliet was speechless. She hadn't ever heard Shawn talk like this before in the time she'd known him. She hadn't even thought he was capable of being that serious. After a few moments, she found her voice again.

"That was…surprisingly profound," she said.

"I know," Shawn said, his serious mask now gone. "Don't tell my dad. I'd never hear the end of it."

"My lips are sealed."

Shawn suddenly checked his watch. "One minute to midnight."

Sure enough, the party-goers inside had started a countdown loud enough to be heard outside.

"You may be right about your New Year's theory, Shawn, but I am not going back in there."

"I wasn't going to make you. Besides, if we're the only two people here, you know what that means." He grinned at her and wiggled his eyebrows.

Juliet was confused for a moment. "No, Shawn, I don't."

He gasped dramatically. "You mean you are not well-versed in New Year's Eve tradition?"

"It's been a while since I've celebrated with others."

"Then I'll just have to show you," he said mischievously.

The countdown was now under thirty seconds. Shawn was leaning by her side, when suddenly, he pushed himself off the railing and turned until he was facing her.

That's when it struck her. How could she have been so stupid? At midnight on New Year's Eve, it was tradition to kiss someone special, or whoever happened to be in the general vicinity.

Shawn was in the general vicinity. Shawn was going to kiss her.

And she really had no means for escape. The railing was behind her, Shawn was in front of her, and now his hands were grasping the railing in either side of her hips…

She was trapped.

Ten seconds now…

Shawn leaned in closer, and she found herself frozen, unable (or unwilling) to lean away. It was like her mind was perfectly aware what was going on, but her body was ignoring it completely.

She was completely at Shawn's mercy.

Five…four…three…two…one…

Shawn leaned in even further, into the range of close talking. "Happy New Year, Jules," he whispered.

He closed the imperceptible gap between their lips.

Juliet was in shock. Shawn was kissing her, she was kissing Shawn, and while her mind may have been reeling from the fact, her body seemed not to care that much.

Correction: her body seemed to care a little _too_ much.

Shawn pulled away and smiled at her, seemingly unaware of her mind vs. body battle (or perhaps he was aware, and that was why he was grinning).

Without a word, he leaned away and pulled his hands from the railing. He turned and walked down the stairs, hands in his pocket as he whistled some sort of jaunty tune.

Juliet remained frozen on the railing, not quite sure what to make of it. Was Shawn trying to warm her up to New Year's or was there a different motive behind his kiss? Had that been planned, or was it spontaneous?

What did that mean in regards to their relationship?

One thing was for sure, and however cliché it may have sounded, Juliet would never really think of New Year's in quite the same way again.


	3. Alone, Junk, and Rescue

No one would find her. That was the conclusion she'd been pushing off for hours, but had finally come to.

No one knew where she was. No one would know where she was.

She would die here, in this unfinished concrete basement, underground, and alone.

All because she'd been too damn stubborn.

It all started when you were young. Hadn't her camp counselors taught her about the buddy system? Didn't her mother warn against wandering to the park without a friend? Hadn't she learned her lesson when Shawn had been kidnapped?

_Always tell someone where you're going. _

She'd had a hunch, she'd followed it (without telling anyone) to a meth lab, she'd been knocked unconscious, and she'd woken up here. Alone.

A voice drifted under the crack in the basement door and wandered down the stairs. "What're we gonna do with her?" asked a panicky, shaking voice.

"That's your problem. You decided to take her. We shoulda shot and dumped her when we had the chance," replied his partner. His voice was deep and gravelly, and betrayed no fear.

"I ain't shootin' no cop, man!" cried Voice One.

"You wanna succeed in this business?" said Voice Two, sounding irritated. "You gotta grow some balls."

A beat, then…"I still ain't killin' no cop."

"We'll deal with it later," said Voice Two. "We gotta go."

Juliet heard heavy footsteps above her, followed by a slamming door. A moment of silence, then a revving car engine and spinning tires.

Then silence.

Only her and the spiders now.

She couldn't call for help, as she'd been gagged as well. The revolting taste of fermenting sweat told her it had once been part of a man's work shirt. There was no way anyone would be able to hear her anyway. She was underground.

She shivered suddenly, the cold of the basement seeping through her clothes. Once again, she strained against her rope ties, but only succeeded in deepening the gouges on her wrists. She hissed in pain.

Why hadn't she told anyone where she was going? All that was needed was an off-hand comment, a little remark. Then she wouldn't have shown up, someone would remember her passing comment, and she wouldn't be here.

She shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. She'd been tossed onto a lumpy mattress and tied to a beaten-up old radiator while she was unconscious. She was surrounded by old junk, none of which was useful to help in an escape.

She was trapped. Alone. Cold. In pain. Uncomfortable. Alone.

An overwhelming sense of claustrophobia descended upon her. She was stuck, restrained, with no way out of this underground room. She could die here. She would die here. No one would find her.

She'd never see her mother. Or her father, who she'd only recently patched things up with. She'd never see the chief, or her partner, Lassiter. She would never see Shawn or Gus.

She would die without ever saying goodbye.

She sucked in breath after breath, knowing she was on her way to hyperventilating, but not caring anyway. She began to feel light-headed, and her head swam as she inhaled. Her vision grew fuzzy.

_No!_

She couldn't give up. She couldn't let them win. She shook her head to clear it, and carefully began to control her breathing. Five minutes later, the fuzzy feeling was gone, and she was thinking clearly again.

Well, thinking, anyway.

She peered through the gloom in her prison and tried to find something with a sharp edge. Something, anything, that would cut through the ropes.

An deflated beach ball. Old clothes, in various states of decay. Children's toys, broken and abandoned. Art supplies, a fat pen, parts of an old bike, a toolbox that was too far away to be of any use.

She had almost slumped back in defeat when she saw it. There, that red thing. What she'd mistaken for a fat pen was an old Swiss Army knife. Reaching it with her hands was out of the question, but if she could just…

She'd lost her shoes somewhere between the meth lab and here, so she stretched out her legs, muscles screaming in protest. Her feet reached past the edge of the mattress, pushing aside worn shirts and broken junk.

She brushed the edge of the knife with her toe, almost pushing it away. She froze, every muscle quivering in anticipations. Slowly, ever so slowly, she maneuvered her toe around the edge, and pulled. The knife came sliding along, until it hit the edge of the mattress.

Now came the hard part. She curled the toes of both feet around the knife, making sure she had it securely grasped. She lifted her feet up carefully, and set it down on the mattress. She slid it closer and closer…

She bent down to pick it up, but immediately felt the rope's strain on her wrists. Her hands would not reach the knife.

She clamped both feet around the knife and began to lift awkwardly, her limbs tangled and twisted in way they weren't meant to be.

She was halfway to her hands when it slid out from her grip, bouncing back to the mattress. She tried again, lifting slowly, her feet trembling with the effort it took to hold the knife in place.

Despite the cold, she was sweating profusely. She could feel it trickling down her chest, across her back, and down her legs. Her feet began to grow warm, and she could feel her grip on the knife slipping…

There! She plucked the knife from her feet, and set them back down, her muscles sighing in relief.

She flipped the blade around and fit her fingernail into the groove, flipping the knife open carefully. The blade was rusty and dull, and had definitely seen better days.

It would have to do.

She turned the knife around and began running it against the ropes. Some part of her brain wondered idly how long her captors had been gone, and when they would return. She dismissed the thought and returned to the ropes, sawing at hard and as fast as she could.

Her strength cost her, though. She tried to cry out as her knife slipped and slid along her wrist, opening a gash that ran parallel to her arm. She felt the hot, sticky flow of blood drip down her skin. She grit her teeth and readjusted her grip, making sure to be a little more careful.

Her mind drifted, and she lost all sense of time as she worked. All that mattered here was getting out. She could not afford to focus anywhere else.

The slamming of a door upstairs startled her, and her knife slipped again. She opened another cut, this time on her palm. The pain caused her hands to jerk, and she lost the knife. It clattered to the floor in between the mattress and the wall.

There would be no retrieving it.

She examined the ropes again, and found that she hadn't even made it halfway.

She wouldn't escape. Her captors would kill her before she could.

The basement door opened with a crash, and heavy footsteps descended down the stairs.

A tall, thick man carrying a handgun appeared around the corner. His hair was shaved in a buzz cut, and his squinty eyes found Juliet by the wall. "Hey there, gorgeous," he said, leering at her. "You been causing trouble." The sound of his voice was familiar. This was Voice Two, the one who'd advocated for her death.

She merely stared at him, unable to speak through the gag. She was going to die. She'd known it since she saw the weapon he'd carried in.

She felt strangely empty at the revelation. Like there was nothing else she could do or say. Nothing would stop the inevitable.

"And you know what we do to people who cause us trouble?" Squinty said.

No response.

"We make sure they can't cause no more trouble," he whispered, waving his gun.

Juliet blinked, and at the same time, a gunshot rang out above them. Followed by another. And another.

Squinty cursed, then brought the gun up to chest level.

She could see his fingers tense, knew he was about to pull the trigger…

A shot pierced the air. Juliet tensed, expecting the instant pain, the blackness of death…

But it never came.

She opened her eyes (which she discovered she had closed) and saw Squinty lying sideways on the floor, a gunshot wound in his head.

Footsteps came hurrying down the stairs, and Juliet tensed again.

Lassiter appeared past the wall, frantically searching. A whimper of relief (or what passed as a whimper through her gag) escaped her mouth. Lasstier's head whipped around, and he sagged in relief as his eyes found her.

"I got her," he called into a walkie-talkie. He hurried over and knelt beside her, pulling a knife from his belt. Gently, he slid the knife between her hands and cut the rope, taking seconds to do what Juliet had spent ages trying to do.

He pulled the gag over her face, and Juliet nearly retched at the fresh taste of the sweaty shirt.

She tried to speak, but the lack of saliva and the disuse of her vocal chords prevented her. She licked her cracked lips once, twice, three times, then croaked out, "How did you find me?"

"Spencer," said Lassiter, helping her to her feet. "I've never seen him so dedicated. I swear, he'd been a force to be reckoned with if he was like that all the time."

Shawn. Of course. He'd had a vision, he'd seen her, trapped in that basement. How could she have doubted him?

Lassiter led her up the stairs, through a living room and a kitchen, and out the front door, where several cop cars were waiting in a wooded clearing, lights flashing, sirens silent.

Juliet caught sight of the Blueberry parked behind the last cop car. Gus was standing at the driver's seat, while Shawn was talking frantically at him, gesturing wildly. Gus turned to look at the house, and saw Juliet and Lassiter standing at the porch. He interrupted Shawn and pointed her way.

Shawn's gaze followed Gus' figure, and his eyes widened as she saw Juliet. Suddenly, he was in motion, running towards her.

She took a few steps away from Carlton's grasp, more sure of her ability to walk alone.

Now Shawn was in front of her, eyes boring into hers. He drank her in greedily, like she was a precious painting he was getting to see for the first time.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He swallowed, then tried again. "You're alive."

"Thanks to you, I've been told."

Shawn didn't answer, but kept staring at her. She met his gaze equally. She saw his eyes shift, saw something click behind them. But what?

His hands were on her cheeks and his lips were smashed against hers before she could register that he'd moved.

It wasn't the most comfortable kiss she'd ever received. Her lips were severely chapped, she was sweaty, her arms were covered in blood…

But she didn't care. Because the emotion he'd managed to pour through the kiss was staggering and overwhelming. He didn't need to say anything.

Because she knew now. She knew he would find her.

She smiled softly against his lips, and finally began to relax. She would go home, take a shower, sleep, and eat. And maybe, just maybe…

She would find time for Shawn and his kisses.


	4. Warehouses, Caught, and Shutting Up

"I am going to kill you, Shawn."

"You always say that."

"No, I mean it this time. I am _really_ going to kill you. At least, if these guys don't kill you first."

Juliet was watching a warehouse crawling with armed thugs supervising a weapons shipment. Well, she was trying to watch it. She only had two eyes, which made it very difficult to follow Shawn and keep an eye of the muscled, tattooed, very scary looking men.

This would have been so much easier if Shawn had steered clear of this case. But he had to stick his nose in and show off his theatrics. She'd banned him from the case file, but somehow he'd managed to sneak a look at it behind her back. She'd banned him from the various crime scenes, but whenever she showed up, the Blueberry was already there, Shawn leaning on the door and grinning. She'd banned him from coming to this bust, but he'd hidden inside her car (how he'd unlocked it, she had no idea) and popped up as soon as she'd rolled to a stop down the block, nearly scaring her to death.

He'd gotten even more annoying since when she'd first met him.

"What part of 'do not come with us' do you not understand?" she hissed at him as they stopped in an alley next to the adjacent building.

"The 'not' part," he said, craning his neck to peer around the corner.

She was so used to the reply that it didn't even faze her this time. "Shawn, you don't even have a weapon. What are you planning on doing?"

"I thought I'd break out a mixed jazz routine and stun them all with my considerable talent," he whispered back.

She didn't even dignify him with a response.

"I don't really know, Jules. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"I'm here because this is my job. I should not have to look out for you."

"I didn't ask you to. I've got my own skills," he said, raising a finger to his temple and curling his lip in his strange side-smirk.

She started fuming as Shawn turned back to play lookout once more. When he gestured for her to move, she didn't. He looked around, an eyebrow raised. She glared at him.

"Aw, c'mon," he said, lowering his hand. "Why the long face?"

"I'm planning several methods of torture designed specifically for you," she said darkly.

"I didn't know you were into whips and chains. That's kinky," he said, eyeing her.

She snorted in disgust and pushed past him, peering around the building. She could see no thugs in the street, so she crept out, tugging Shawn behind her. They pressed themselves up against the building and snuck quietly into the alley next to the target warehouse.

"Now, all we have to do is stay by that door," she said into Shawn's ear. She pointed to a door right next to their alley. "Now, for God's sake, shut up and don't move."

Her voice must have sounded particularly venomous, for he swallowed hard, then nodded.

Juliet stood in front of Shawn, occasionally glancing around the corner to check the door. She would take her place outside the door once she heard Lassiter's voice through the bullhorn, warning the thugs that they were surrounded. For now, she just had to be quiet and go unnoticed.

She looked at Shawn. Keeping quiet? Easier said than done.

But for now, Shawn was leaning up against the brick wall of the alley, looking at…her actually. She felt her cheeks go red, but didn't break her gaze. They stood like that, each one merely looking at the other. Remarkably, it was Juliet who broke the silence first. "What are you looking at?"

"You," he said simply.

"I know that," she said, rolling her eyes. "What about me?"

"Your eyes."

"It's the middle of the night, Shawn. You can't see my eyes."

"I know. I'm remembering what they look like."

She sighed. Only Shawn Spencer would stare at her, and then tell her he was remembering what her eyes looked like. "And what do they look like, Shawn?"

"Hazel," he said thoughtfully.

"Congratulations. You've just identified my eye color."

"No," he said. "I mean, they are hazel. But that's not what I'm remembering." He didn't continue.

"Care to elaborate?" Juliet asked, exasperated.

"Well, when it's light, they're more of a mossy greenish. But when it's darker, they shift to this brownish color. Whenever I see you, I try to figure out what color your eyes are."

Juliet blinked. Whatever she'd been expecting, this hadn't been it. "That's slightly creepy, Shawn."

"It is, isn't it? Sorry about that. Your eyes merely presented a puzzle to me. What can I say? I'm a curious guy."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"You know, I've really never understood that expression. Is it the actual curiosity that kills the cat, or is it what results _from_ the curiosity. Cause if that's it, that changes the meaning entirely…"

Juliet tuned him out and just watched him talk. He was being quite animated, even with the whispered conversation. She'd said that he was creepy, always watching her eyes, but part of her (a really tiny part) was flattered. He was the first to talk about her eyes like that. He'd really been paying attention to her, not just randomly flirting.

Although, there was a lot of that too.

She suddenly became aware that something was very wrong. Shawn had fallen silent, and was looking past her with an alarmed look on his face. Shawn never looked alarmed.

She realized that she hadn't checked around the corner for a while the moment she heard the heavy footsteps approaching the door.

Someone was coming. If they peered around the corner (like any normal person would when checking around an area), they would find Shawn and Juliet.

They were so, so screwed.

Before she could think of something to explain away their presence, Shawn acted for her. Quick as a flash he grabbed the front of her jacket and pulled her around, slamming her against the brick alley wall. She was about to cry out when his lips pressed against hers and her brain shorted out.

Shawn was kissing her. They were about to be caught by an armed thug, and all he was doing was _kissing_ her. They were both going to _die_.

But apparently, her body didn't really care. No, all she could really focus on now was how Shawn was pressed against her, his lips working against hers, his hands on her hips, and how good it felt. Her brain had been completely turned off, which was probably the reason why she hadn't pushed him off her. Or why she was winding her arms around his neck and trying to pull him closer, even though it was pretty much physically impossible.

Part of her wondered in horror at what she was doing, but the other part shoved it in a box and buried it deep in the recesses in her brain.

She was completely at his mercy.

She was vaguely aware of a banging sound, and a light shining in their faces.

_That's it. We're screwed._

Shawn turned his head. "What the hell, man?" he asked, sounding not at all like his usual self. "You got something better to do than mess up my night?"

She heard a grunt, then the light disappeared and the door slammed shut again.

Shawn stepped back and straightened his shirt. "Well, that was close."

Juliet spluttered. "What the hell was that?"

"That was me saving our asses," Shawn replied coolly. "We're still alive, aren't we?"

"Out of the millions of options we had, you had to pick _that_?"

"You seemed to enjoy it," he pointed out.

Juliet blinked. She had no explanation for her actions.

Thankfully, she didn't have to. Lassiter's voice rang out from the bullhorn, and Juliet stepped past Shawn and took her place by the door. She trained her gun on the threshold and watched carefully, waiting for anyone to come out.

Lassiter's team must have been very thorough, for no one burst through her exit point. Lassiter called the all-clear, and Juliet lowered her weapon, re-holstering it before turning back to Shawn.

"Get out of here, Spencer," she said.

"You really want me to leave?" he said with raised eyebrows and a mock-hurt expression.

"Yes, I do."

"See, here's the thing," he said, stepping closer to her. "I don't think you do."

Juliet's heart rate spiked and her breathing grew erratic as he drew nearer. She'd been this close to him before in the alley, so why was she reacting like this now?

_You didn't know what he tasted like then. You want more_. She pushed this errant thought away.

"Oh?" she managed.

"Yeah, I think you want nothing more than to throw your arms around me and kiss me again," he said.

"Well, you'd be wrong there," she said, trying (and failing) to sound like she didn't care.

"You know what, Jules?" he asked, leaning ever closer.

She only managed a faint sound.

"I think I'm right," he whispered, now inches away from her. Her heart pounded in her chest and her palms started sweating.

"That's what I hate about you," she said. "You're so damn arrogant."

He raised an eyebrow. "You love it."

"I don't actually," she growled, before giving in. She leaned in and kissed him. This time, she was the one in control.

And she liked it, dammit.

She liked it a lot.

"I knew you couldn't resist me," crowed Shawn when she came up for air.

"Shut up,' she said, rolling her eyes.

"Gladly," he said, leaning down for another kiss.

If she'd have known a kiss would have shut him up, she'd have done it a long time ago.


	5. A Party, A Tennis Shoe, and Vandalism

**A/N: Alright, so we're going for an abrupt change of pace. I'm doing a family Shules chapter. For those of you familiar with my old story, I believe you will recognize the character of Sophia. For those of you who aren't, you can either read the weirdo chapters in Moments of Their Lives, or not. You don't need any background to read this. Again, please read and review. You have no idea how much it means to me to read your reviews. **

* * *

><p>Sometimes, Shawn thought as he stared across the table at his teenage daughter, it was so very <em>vexing<em> to be a parent.

Vexing. Such an underrated word. It positively tripped off the tongue, stabbing the air toward whomever it was directed at. A short, concise word. And it had the letter "x", which Shawn thought was one of the most under-used letters in the alphabet.

"Uh, Dad?" interrupted Sophie.

"Sorry," he said, breaking his reverie.

"Lost in thought?"

He nodded.

"What was it this time?"

"The word 'vex'."

It was her turn to nod. "A good word. Not used often enough, in my opinion. I can assume that you're 'vexed' at me?"

"That would be a safe bet."

She sighed. "We both know that neither one of us wants to be here right now, so why don't we forget the whole thing and just go home?"

Shawn gave his daughter a look.

"Fine! Fine. So what do we do now?"

"How about you tell me what happened?"

"I already did."

"No. Start from the beginning."

"Alright," she said heavily. "If you want me to start from the _beginning_ beginning…"

* * *

><p>For the fifth time that night, Sophia Spencer wondered <em>why<em> she came to these parties. It certainly wasn't to keep up her popularity. She knew she could stop coming to parties like this and her social status would never fluctuate (Sophie was one of those rare girls who just seemed to draw others to her). She didn't come for the free alcohol, which the opened water bottle in her hand would testify to.

So why _did_ she come?

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" asked a voice over her shoulder.

"That I must be a glutton for punishment," she called over the music.

"Aren't we all?" asked Alexandra, stepping close so she could be heard. Her blonde hair fell in waves past her face, and she pushed aside the strand impatiently.

"Why do I let you drag me to these things?" Sophie asked, mock-groaning.

"Because there is nothing more pathetic than a seventeen-year-old girl staying home on a Friday night."

"I could think of a few things…"

Alex rolled her eyes. "Of course you could."

"Seriously, though, Alex, I think I'd better head out."

"And leave me here with these blockheads?" Alex gasped dramatically, gesturing to their drunk peers. "You wouldn't."

"You could come with me," Sophie suggested.

"And have game night with the investigators extraordinaire? No thanks," Alex said, suppressing a shudder. Her grin betrayed her teasing.

"You're a jerk," Sophie said, giving her friend a playful shove. "We're leaving in fifteen minutes. Just let me find Jeremy."

"He's not coming with us, is he?" Alex asked, a worried look in her eye. "Because I am _so_ not third-wheeling."

"No, he's not. I just want to let him know we're leaving." Sophie scanned the crowd before asking, "Do you know where he went?"

"Nope," Alex said. "I'll be waiting outside when you've found him."

Sophie scanned the crowd a little more carefully, but didn't see Jeremy's trademark messy brown hair. She poked her head in the kitchen, but it was empty aside from a few drunken football players. She checked the backyard to the same result.

"Where are you?" she asked to herself. He'd gone off with some friends around a half-hour ago and hadn't returned.

She wandered down a hall and stopped suddenly. Was that his shoe near the wall? She bent down and inspected it, careful not to touch it. She knew that she wasn't at a crime scene and it made no difference whether she touched the shoe or not, but the habits she'd picked up from her parents stuck.

The shoe in question was a white Nike with red detailing. She didn't need a closer inspection to tell her this was Jeremy's shoe.

It was lying next to a closed door in the hallway. Sophie straightened up and put her ear to the wood.

_Please dear God, please don't let me hear him in there…_

There would be only one reason for Jeremy to be in a bedroom at a party. And since Sophie wasn't in there with him, if he was there it could only mean one thing.

She heard silence.

_This could be either very good or very bad…_

Without bothering to knock, she twisted the handle and pushed open the door.

She heard a loud swear and suddenly Jeremy was there.

"Uh…hi," he said awkwardly.

Sophie took in his shirtless state. She saw the traces of lipstick on his mouth, and the even-more-than-normal tousled hair.

"Who is she?"

"What?" he asked, taken a bit off guard.

She sighed. "The slut in there with you. Who is she?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, trying to bluff his way out.

She sighed. "Your shirt is off and you're covered in lipstick. Am I supposed to believe you've been making out with yourself this entire time?"

She pushed him aside before he could answer. She was met with the sight of a scantily-clad girl trying to cover herself up with the sheets she was sitting on.

"Lisa Daniels, Jeremy? Really? If you were going to cheat on me, the least you could do would be to choose someone with a little more class. And another thing," she said, rounding on him. "Did you _want_ me to discover you?"

"What?"

"Hooking up at a party? Someone was going to see you, if it wasn't me. And leaving your shoe outside? Very sloppy. You could have at least taken the time to lock the door before trying to get into her pants. Although," she said, taking another look at the girl on the bed, "that didn't seem to take too long."

"I-" Jeremy was at a loss for words.

"Have fun," she said sarcastically as she left. She paused at the doorway before scooping up the shoe.

"Here you go," she said, and with that, she threw the shoe at Jeremy, knowing full well as she turned around that it would hit where she was aiming. She smiled as she heard his yelp of pain. Jeremy would be singing soprano for at least a couple days.

* * *

><p>"Did you find him?" asked Alex as Sophie stalked out of the house.<p>

"Oh, I found him alright," Sophie growled.

"What happened?"

"I found him sticking his tongue down the throat of Lisa Daniels."

"That bastard! That skank! Please tell me you hit him."

"Where the sun don't shine."

"I would have loved to have seen it."

"Trust me. You wouldn't have."

Alex immediately sobered. "I'm sorry. How about I drive? You can stay at my house tonight, if you want."

"Thanks, but I think I should just head home."

Alex looked torn. "If you're sure. Just promise me that you won't steal your mom's gun and kill him."

"I promise," Sophie said. She had a much better plan in mind.

But first, she needed to bawl her eyes out. Which she did in the passenger seat of her car as Alex drove her home.

* * *

><p>Two hours later found Sophie silently slipping out of her house, dressed in all black, and tucking a can of spray paint into her sweatshirt.<p>

She crossed the backyard and hopped over the fence, avoiding the gate that creaked noisily when it opened. She had a ten minute walk through the woods behind her house until she reached the street where Jeremy lived. She had debated bringing a flashlight with her, but she knew these woods by heart. She would not have trouble getting lost.

She'd cried all the way home, but as soon as Alex had pulled up to her house, she'd dried her tears and checked her appearance. If she walked into the house a sniveling mess, there'd be no way she was sneaking out later. Alex had given her a strange look, but Sophie had merely shaken her head and uttered the two words that guaranteed her privacy: Plausible Deniability.

Alex had understood at once. Sophie was planning something and didn't want Alex implicated. She'd squeezed her hand and driven off, leaving Sophie to her planning.

She knew her mother didn't suspect a thing. Sophie was a supreme liar, and the redness around her eyes was barely noticeable. She wasn't totally sure she'd convinced her father, but he hadn't said anything.

She'd waited until all the lights in the house were out, then she threw the covers off. She'd already changed into black yoga pants and a light sweatshirt. She hesitated before leaving her room, then turned around and tucked her pillows below her sheets in a vaguely humanoid form. She didn't think for a second they would fool her parents, or that they would even check on her in the first place. She just wanted to be able to say that she'd done it.

Sophie blinked as she emerged from the trees, the sudden light from the streetlamp startling her. She looked around to get her bearings, then took a right. It wasn't too far now. Just three houses down, two, one…

There it was. Sophie's hand tightened on the spray paint as she quickly crossed the street. Jeremy's new cherry red sports car sat gleaming in the driveway.

Sophie ducked down behind the car and set to work. Starting from the back, she sprayed letter after letter on the shiny surface of his baby.

B…A…S…T…A…R…

The door crashed open as soon as she finished the "D".

"What the—you bitch!" cried Jeremy's voice.

Sophie swore and shoved the black paint into her sweatshirt pocket before taking off. She might've saved time by dropping it, but that would have left evidence at the crime scene.

Sophie ran as fast as she could, but she didn't have a chance. She was an athletic person and was pretty fast, but Jeremy wasn't the school track star for nothing. She wasn't even halfway down the street when she felt a hand pull at her clothes.

She went down hard. She felt the pavement scrape at her jaw and knees as she slid down the road.

"Bastard," she muttered as she sat up. She winced as she touched the raw spot on her face.

"What the hell were you doing to my car?" asked Jeremy.

"I thought it was pretty obvious."

"I'm calling the police," he said, pulling out his cell phone.

"Are you serious? My dad's a private investigator and my mom's a cop. You really think calling the police will do anything?"

A muscle twitched in Jeremy's jaw. "I think you don't have as much power as you think you do," he said as he pushed the call button.

* * *

><p>"And that's what happened?"<p>

"That's what happened."

Shawn watched his daughter carefully, looking for signs of deception. As good of a liar as she was, she could never really get past him. When he was satisfied that she was telling the truth, he said, "Your plan wasn't very well executed."

"I knew that when I initiated it. I was hoping I wouldn't get caught, but I knew going into it that capture was a possibility."

Shawn shook his head. "What are we going to do with you?"

"You could let me go," she suggested. "Is all this necessary?" she gestured to the interrogation room she was currently sitting in.

"Sophie?" came a voice over the intercom in the ceiling.

Sophie's head shot up. "Yes, God?" she asked, looking to the ceiling.

"Not funny," said Juliet. "It's not our call whether we let you go. Jeremy's pressing charges."

A flicker of fear crossed his daughter's usually calm face. "Can't we convince him to drop the charges?"

"Sophie…" Juliet warned.

Shawn stood up suddenly. "I have an idea," he announced. "I'll be right back." He left the interrogation room and climbed up the stairs to the squad room.

"Straightened that business out with Sophie yet?" asked Lassiter as he shuffled papers on his desk.

"Almost. Where's the guy who pressed charges again?"

Lassiter looked up and gave Shawn a suspicious look. "Why do you want to know?"

"Aw, c'mon Lassiter. I just want to ask him some questions."

After a beat of silence, Lassiter said, "If you hurt him, I didn't tell you where he was."

"Got it."

He pointed past his desk to a bench along the wall. A tall, lanky boy with messy brown hair sat on it, his gaze fixed on a phone in his hand.

Shawn strode up to him and cleared his throat.

The boy looked up. "Yeah?"

"You're the one who's pressing charges against Sophia Spencer?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who I am?"

"A cop, I'm guessing?"

"Well, you'd be wrong there. I'm Sophia's father."

"Jeremy's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

"And the story she told me concerned me, Jeremy. You see, I don't like it when anyone hurts my baby girl…"

Ten minutes later, Shawn strode back into the interrogation room. "Jeremy's dropping all charges against you."

"What did you do to him?" asked Juliet immediately over the intercom.

"Why do you always assume that I've hurt people when they suddenly change their minds? Can't they have a change of heart?"

"When it comes to Jeremy, no," said Sophie. "What did you do?"

"Okay, fine. I _may_ have mentioned that I have a black friend that had gang ties…"

There was silence in the interrogation room. Then: "You told him Gus was a gang member?" asked Sophie in between fits of laughter.

"I didn't mention Gus' name, but that may be what I was implying."

"That is too good," said Sophie. "Gus, a gangbanger!"

"You may have gotten off the hook criminally, young lady, but that doesn't mean you've escaped punishment!"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Of course not, Mom. God forbid I escape a punishment."


	6. Turkeys, Squishies, and Names

**A/N: I'm a horrible person, I know. I left you guys hanging for a long time. So I figured I better write something extra juicy. So, I give you something that's been a long time coming (for those who read Moments of Our Lives, at least)…Ben's birth! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych. **

* * *

><p>November the seventh started out as a normal day for Shawn Spencer. He woke up, threw on some clothes, kissed his very pregnant wife good-bye, then set out to prove that Santa Barbara's newest string of murders was in fact committed by a homicidal turkey incensed at the upcoming fall holiday.<p>

Yep. It was just a run-of-the-mill morning for a private (no longer psychic) detective.

But then his phone rang and everything changed.

"Hello, you've reached one Shawn Spencer, private eye. I am in fact available, so please, commence in speaking."

"Mind telling me while I'm the one at the hospital while your wife is in labor?"

"Because I am on a breakthrough that would change public opinion about poultry on an epic scale? Wait—what did you say?"

"You heard me. Now get your ass down here."

But Shawn had already hung up and was dialing another number. "Gus! I need a ride. Now!"

"For the last time, Shawn, I am not helping you catch a wild turkey."

"As I said before, it would totally up your badassery. But this is something different. I need a ride to the hospital. Juliet 's in labor."

"I'm already there."

"What? No you're not. I can't see—Hello? Hello? Gus?"

* * *

><p><em>Twenty minutes later…<em>

"It's about time you showed up," grumbled Carlton Lassiter as Shawn dashed into the waiting area. "I don't even know why I'm still here."

"To show support for your longtime partner?" Gus suggested as he followed Shawn inside.

Lassiter harrumphed and looked away.

"So where is she? Can I see her?"

Lassiter pointed toward a door a little ways down the hall. "Good luck."

"Why would you say that?" Shawn asked, looking at Lassiter curiously.

The detective smirked. "You'll see."

Shawn hesitated, then shook his head before pushing through the door and into the hospital room. "Jules? You alright?"

"No, I'm not alright. Do I look alright to you?" His wife was lying on a hospital bed, dressed in a typical hospital gown. Her face was red and sweaty, and her hands were clenched into tight fists.

Shawn, for once in his life, decided not to say what was on his mind. "You look great, honey."

"You liar." _Of course. _

Shawn switched tactics. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah," she grunted, her face screwed up in pain. "Go back nine months and don't take me out for Valentine's day."

"Erm…" Honestly, what was he supposed to say to that? So he just leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek.

But of course, that wouldn't work either. She gagged and pushed his face away roughly. "Get out of here!" she cried. "You smell disgusting! Go!"

Shawn looked at the nurse in the room, baffled. She chuckled at his expression. "It might be easier if you were to wait outside, at least until the baby arrives."

He was torn, but Juliet's next remark sent him scurrying: "Tell Lassiter to remind me to shoot you after this is over!" The last part of her sentence ended in a screech as another contraction hit.

Shawn quickly left the room for the hall. Lassiter looked up as he emerged. "What's going on? What'd she say?"

"To tell you to remind her to shoot me after this is over."

Lassiter's brow furrowed as he worked out just what had been said. Moments later, a manic smile grew on his face. "With pleasure."

"So…what do we do now?" Shawn asked.

"Nothing you can do but wait," said Gus, who was already flipping through the magazines the hospital had set out.

"Really, Gus? InStyle?"

* * *

><p><em>Hours later…<em>

"Mr. Spencer?"

Shawn woke violently from the light doze he'd managed to drift into. He looked around wildly, and he shot up as his gaze landed on the nurse from before. "Is she okay?"

"Mother and child are fine," she said with a wide smile. "Would you like to—? "

But Shawn was already rushing past her into the room. He stopped dead in his tracks as he passed the threshold. "Can I—is it alright if I come in?" he asked awkwardly.

Juliet gave him a tired smile. "Of course." She beckoned him over.

Shawn came to her side and bent down, staring at the tiny bundle of blankets in her arms. "Is there a kid in there, or…"

"Shawn," Juliet chastised gently. She pulled aside the fabric to reveal a tiny face, sound asleep.

Shawn was silent for a few moments. "It's so…squishy."

"Shawn!" Juliet hissed.

"What? It's cute…but squishy."

"He's not an it. He's your son."

"A son. Wow," Shawn whispered, as the full reality of just who that bundle of blankets was struck him. This was a tiny little combination of him and Juliet. Part of Shawn lived in this child. So did a part of Juliet. This was his kid.

"He's perfect," he said sincerely. Juliet looked at him suspiciously. "No, I'm serious!" he said. "He's a little you and me."

She smiled at that. "What do we want to name him?"

"You're asking me? The man who renames Gus at least twice a day?"

"You're right, what was I thinking?" After a brief pause, she said, "How does Benjamin sound? Ben for short."

Shawn mulled the name over. "Hang on. Isn't that your stepdad's name?"

Juliet nodded, her gaze still fixed on her son. "He was there for me when my real father wasn't. I'd really like to name our son after him."

"Sounds fine with me."

"We still need a middle name," Juliet continued.

"Benjamin Henry."

Juliet looked up. "What?"

Shawn cleared his throat. "Can we maybe name him Benjamin Henry? You know, after my dad?"

Juliet's smile lit up the room. "Of course we can."

Shawn rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Could you, uh, not tell him I suggested it? At least, for now?"

"Whatever you want," she said softly. She looked down at the infant in her arms. "Benjamin Henry Spencer. A perfect name for a perfect son."

"Okay, that was a little cheesy." Juliet shot him a glare. "I'm not saying it's not true!" he defended.

"You're lucky I'm bedridden," she threatened.

What that, they lapsed into a comfortable silence. All Shawn could look at was the woman next to him and the child in her arms. Years ago, there was very little that tied him to this world. Gus had been one large part of it. He'd met Jules, and suddenly he cared about a lot more. Even his father had become a large part of his life. But all that paled in comparison with this little life before him. He knew now that he would do anything for his son. The intensity of this feeling scared him, but he also knew that he could never leave this child.

"Am I interrupting?" came a soft voice from the doorway. Shawn looked up to see his father standing in the doorway, leaning in ever-so-slightly.

"Not at all," said Juliet. "Come in."

Henry stepped into the room, but not more than a few steps. "Are you alright?" he asked. The question had been directed at Juliet, but Shawn had a feeling that he'd been asking about him too.

"We're all fine," Juliet answered. "Come and meet you first grandchild." When he didn't move, she added, "Benjamin Henry Spencer."

Henry's smile spoke more than words could ever express.

And Shawn knew exactly how he felt.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes, Ben is a Valentine's baby ;-) (I didn't actually plan in that way, if you can believe it) **

**So? What did you think? Feedback is a lovely thing (and wonderful motivation)!**

**Prompts are also welcome! If there's a scene you want to see, or if you just want to give me quotes to use, or any other prompt, I will do my best with it. It also means I have inspiration and will be writing more frequently. But I promise, I will try and do better with this story. **

**I do have an announcement I'd like to make. I'm currently working on a Psych fic of epic proportions. The main character is none other than our beloved Sophie. I'm just wondering…would any of you read it if I published it? Should I keep working on it? It'll be a lovely blend of mystery, humor, and maybe a little romance. Anyone interested? (I may also be on the lookout for a beta-reader, but that could be a while yet)**


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